


Aftermath

by Pseud-pseud-pseudio (feral_albertan_female)



Series: For Hire [5]
Category: Character/Reader - Fandom, Character/You - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Sabretooth - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Porn, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_albertan_female/pseuds/Pseud-pseud-pseudio
Summary: A reunion.





	1. Constant Craving

Even through the darkest phase  
Be it thick or thin  
Always someone marches brave  
Here beneath my skin

Constant craving  
Has always been

 

-  _Constant Craving_ by k.d. lang

 

 

* * *

 

“He took you, tiger.”

The words hang in the air between us.

Your silk-covered fingers touch my lips gently before you trace ‘em over my cheekbones an’ brush them through my muttonchops.

I can smell that you’re curious an’ confused an’ that those scents are fightin’ with the fact you’re also curious an’ aroused.

It’s drivin’ me crazy—Christ, _you’re_ drivin’ me crazy by just bein’ in the same room as me after years apart. My blood’s boilin’ but I gotta take it slow even though all I wanna do is tear your clothes off an’ claim you right here on this couch.

Make you mine again.

I never been a prayin’ man.

Gave up on God pretty early in my life ‘cause there was no devine bein’ up in the wild blue yonder helpin’ out ol’ Victor, that’s for damn sure.

I ain’t never prayed for anythin’ in my life; if I wanted it, I went out an’ got it myself. Didn’t wanna waste time on my knees for someone or somethin’ I knew wasn’t listenin’, but goddammit, right now with you in my arms studyin’ me an’ touchin’ me—fuck, am I prayin’.

I’m prayin’ with everythin’ I have that you’ll remember me, that you’ll look in my face an’ see the love there, the need, an’ the want.

 _Please, tiger_. _Please see me_.

The beast is roilin’ under my skin; the desperation it’s givin’ off, the sheer cravin’ … it’s pungent an’ your closeness is startin’ to make it restless.

Beastie wants to _take_ but I won’t let him out.

Gotta take it gentle and slow.

 

* * *

 

 

_It is you._

_You are here but you are not mine—not ours._

_I am agitated; why will Victor not let me have control?_

_He has done so once before when another man laid claim to you._

_You now carry the stink of him. I don’t like it._

We _don’t like it, but yet, Victor continues to push me down._

 _Our chosen one, our_ mate _sits before us and he will not let me out._

_Does he not know how much I want you, how much I need you?_

_There is a part of you that I can touch—a small part._

_I slowly unfurl my primal, animalistic instinct to find yours._

_It has gotten smaller, blacker, twisted and this angers me but I must keep that anger under control._

_It is still intact, still whole. This is good._

_I reach out and stroke it; it shivers under my contact. It recognizes me._

_I caress it again and again._

_It begins to open, expanding sluggishly, still cracked and raw from misuse but I am there to coax it, to nurture it._

_I will always be there to nurture it._

_I will make you complete again because I am not complete without you._

* * *

 

 

Your fingers drift back to my lips, tracin’ ‘em with your silk-covered fingers an’ then you whisper the word I’ve been dyin’ to hear for the past two years:

“Victor?”

If there’s a heaven, I’m there right fuckin’ now.

 

* * *

 

 

You trace his fine lips with your gloved fingers again, a million visions of him flashing through your head. There’s a flicker, a tickle, and everything becomes clear, clearer than it’s ever been.

You belong here.

“Victor?”

All of the tension in the room leaves in one gigantic rush, and for a moment you feel dizzy so you tighten your grip on his dress shirt—you don’t want to get pulled out too.

You never want to be apart from him again.

“Baby,” Victor whispers stroking one of his large hands down your back, “you don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that.”

But this doesn’t make sense.

The last time you saw him, he was a blackened and crisp husk having been electrocuted; now he’s here, fully whole, his hands …

Goddamn, his hands …

“How long?” you breathe as you look up into his eyes. The jumble of emotions and feelings and images rushing through you are intense. You start to tremble as they begin to overwhelm you.

You turn into Creed’s chest, burying your face in shirt. He smells fucking incredible, like a mix of wood smoke and the spicy tang of a citrus aftershave. Goddamn, you want to rub that smell all over your body—you want to rub HIM all over your body.

“Two years,” Victor murmurs against your hair. “There’s an ache in my soul where you useta be, tiger.”

You can feel it, an empty void within yourself that suddenly surfaces, causing tears to prick the corners of your eyes. How did you not notice he was missing? This is the man you’d move heaven and earth for; this is the man you’d kill for.

He’s _yours_.

You tilt your head back so you can see his face. He’s so fucking beautiful. How could you have forgotten him? How could you forget his scent, his smile, his laugh …

You touch your lips to his in a chaste kiss and you know you’re gone. You want Victor to own you, to claim you body and soul so that every single inch of you belongs to him.

Before he can pull away, you wrap a hand around the back of his neck, refusing to let him pull away. You kiss him more firmly, a small moan escaping from you. Victor feels _so_ fucking good and you want to keep touching him.

You _need_ to keep touching him.

There are things you _know_ you have to deal with: the last two years, Felix, what Felix did to you, what he _made_ you, but right now all you want is Victor.

You want to feel his body under your hands, to kiss every part of him, to make up for the past two years and you want to do it _now_.

“Victor,” your growl against his lips as you fumble with the buttons on his dress shirt. “Take me upstairs.”

He makes a sound of surprise before he pulls back gently. “Tiger, we should wait,” he says, his voice strained.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper, nibbling on the tip of his pointed ear—you’re sure he liked that.

Victor’s hands convulse on your waist; you were right about him liking that. “You’re wounded. I could hurt you.” He’s panting, unravelling under your touch.

You know he wants you as much as you want him and it won’t take much to make him lose his grip on his tenacious resolve. 

“You’d never hurt me, Victor, _never_.”

He crumbles, pulling you flush against his body with a growl to press a hungry kiss to your mouth. Both of you stay like that for a few moments, lost in each other, lost in the kiss before you pull back gently.

“Upstairs,” you snarl. “Now.”

Your wish is granted.

 

* * *

 

_I stroke your instinct gently, carefully._

_The savage passion of want spills over me._

_It makes me growl with desire._

_I let you take charge of our first coupling for I am busy making sure you that you come back to us intact and unbroken._

_I will not let you be broken._

_You are perfect_.

 

* * *

 

 

A guy like me ain’t destined for heaven.

I know it, you know it, fuckin’ strangers on the street know it. Shit, even Bob and Doug McKenzie know it. I ain’t a good guy—I don’t read to the elderly, I don’t return my library books on time, an’ I wouldn’t even curb my dog if I had one.

But when I’m holdin’ you in my arms, I wonder if I’m bein’ givin’ heaven on earth because when I’m there, I ain’t a vicious murderin’ bastard, I ain’t a guy who’ll set fire to a face I don’t like, I ain’t a guy who’s proud of the nickname _Der Schl_ _ӓchter_.

I’m only Victor Creed, a guy who’s completely and utterly in love with you, a guy who’s allowed to just be because you don’t care about what I do or how I do it.

I ain’t ever gonna be redeemed; I’m a bastard through an’ through an’ I can’t see me livin’ my life any other way.

It’s only in your eyes that I’m absolved of all my filthy, dirty sins ‘cause even though you know I’m no angel, you love me anyway.

That’s all I could ask for.


	2. Cross My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You remember everything. Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Many, many, many apologies for the long break between chapters. Life sometimes just fucks your shit up, y'know? Anyway, thanks so much for your patience and for sticking by this story!

 

I remember you  
I remember me  
I remember  
The way things used to be  
I remember how it was that we met  
I remember  
I will never forget  
I remember  
I remember you 

-  _I Remember You_ by Lou Reed

 

* * *

 

His dress shirt had been reverently peeled from his chest and placed carefully over the back of an armchair located halfway across the bedroom, close to the door. You’d been eager to undress him, to feel his flesh under your silk-covered hands, to touch the heat emanating from his body.

His magnificent body …

He’d told you that he didn’t care, that you should just rip the shirt off, but it looked _hella_ expensive – and it looked as fine on him as it did off of him. It had obviously been tailored to fit his impressive torso and you told him you were sure as shit going to be removing that shirt from him again, making him laugh, delighting you down to your toes.

It’s been two years since you last touched Victor Creed – one of the most dangerous men on the planet, and more importantly, your mate. Now that his bare flesh was in front of you, you were unsure where to start because, _goddamn_ you just want to touch everywhere at once, so you’re standing there stupidly, hands clutching his shoulders.

Victor’s beautiful amber eyes are watching your face, waiting for you to _do_ something. You’re the one who demanded he bring you to the bedroom; you’re the one who insisted the down n’ dirty was gonna happen despite his misgivings about your injuries.

FUCKING _DO SOMETHING_.

Honestly though, you’re at a loss. You’d forgotten everything about the man, including the fact he existed, and now that you have this huge, sexy piece of man-meat at your fingertips, you don’t know how to spice it properly.

God _dammit_ , he’s just so gorgeous …

A smile tugs at Victor’s lips and he reaches up to encircle your wrist, mindful of your wounds, and brings your hand down to his mouth. Gently, he kisses the tips of your gloved fingers, your knuckles, the back of your hand. The bandages dull the heat of his touch, but you’re grateful for it. Victor takes the tip of the pointer finger of your glove and starts to pull it off.

“No,” you gasp, shocked.

Desperately, your grab the end of it and pull it back, a silky tug-of-war between you and your mate. You know he can smell them, but you don’t want Victor to see the dressing that’s dotted with blood, the deep cuts and abrasions left behind by one of Felix’s more brutal punishments. You’re filled with shame at the idea; you were too weak to fight back, too drunk and stoned to stand up for yourself.

“Let me do this, tiger,” he whispers. “Let me see all of you.”

He sounds so earnest that you don’t stop him when he tugs on the glove again. The white gauze is slowly revealed – a thin layer because Felix didn’t want it to look bulky. Each finger is wrapped, the dressing winding down before encasing your palm, continuing all the way down to your wrist. Bandages cover the too-short nails of your pointer, index, and ring fingers. They’d been horribly ripped when you’d been held underwater and had been trying to fight your way out, towards air.

The other hand is the same; more cuts and wounds, more blood and bandages. Fury begins the fill the room like oxygen, pulsing and growing until it begins to smother you.

“He hurt you.” Victor is practically choking on rage, his face twisted and dangerous, the sharp fucking canines on display, claws extended to their full, lethal length.

It’s easily to understand how a fully-grown individual could literally shit their pants when they saw this pissed-off creature coming towards them. You’re not one of those people.

When he speaks next, his voice is full of pain. “I wasn’t there to stop him. I wasn’t there to keep you safe.”

You pull away the medical tape that holds the wrapping together, letting it fall away, exposing the torn and wounded flesh, the dried blood that clings to your skin. You do the same to the other, then cup his cheek gently in one hand. He rubs against you like a cat starving for attention. The kiss you place to his lips is chaste and pure. You hear his claws retract, a low moan rumbling in his chest.

“None of that matters.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. “What matters is that you’re here and I’m here. We’re together now and I don’t give a full flying fucking shit about anything else, you hear me?”

“Still got that filthy mouth.” Victor’s smile is like the sun and you bask in that warmth, letting it fill your heart and your body.

“Best get me to shut it then.”

Victor clasps your hips tightly, bringing you so much closer to that beautiful body, and his lips close over yours. His barbed tongue sweeps pleadingly across your mouth and you open, letting him in.

You moan as the taste of him floods your senses, his tongue firm and insistent. He reaches for the zipper of your dress. The click of the teeth seems to take far too long and you understand why he wanted you to rip off his dress shirt earlier – you just want this stupid goddamn bastard dress _off_.

When the fucking dress _finally_ slides to the floor, ghosting over your skin like a … well, a ghost. Fuck, it’s hard to come up with similes when a hot man is undressing you and all you can think about is grinding his ass into the mattress like … goddamn similes!

Victor breaks the kiss and leans back, his eyes wandering over your body. He doesn’t say a word or make a sound as his hand skims over the white gauze that covers you from knee to ankle. You hold your breath as he rips off one dressing, then the other, the air a welcome guest against your skin.

“Fuck,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “I’m so fucking _itchy_.”

The statement surprises Victor, who laughs. Your eyes open at the sound, smiling as he kisses you again. You let out a totally uncool squeal as he grabs you around the waist and swings you around, silencing it as his mouth fuses to yours. The passionate embrace leaves you breathless when he pulls away, positioning himself above you on his hands and knees.

“I never wanna stop touchin’ you,” Victor murmurs, his amber eyes filled with want.

“Then don’t,” you respond, snaking your arms around his neck.

With an impatient groan, he carefully sinks down onto you, his lips impetuous as they attack yours. His cock is impressively hard against your thigh and it’s practically burning you through the fabric of his trousers. You’re already soaking wet, squirming under his body, wanting nothing more than to fell him inside you, to have him fill you, stretch you open and make you his all over again.

“Victor,” you moan. “Please, I want—”

He’s already miles ahead of you, one hand yanking down his pants. “Tiger,” he mumbles against your neck, “your wounds.”

You’re absolutely wrecked, your breath coming fast, your heart bumping furiously. You can’t even tell which way is up or if boy bands are popular again. “I don’t _care_ ,” you cry, digging your nails into the flesh of his shoulders. “Please, please fuck me!”

Victor’s breath hitches, a low, sexy growl working its way from his chest. You can feel it inside of you, making your heart and soul quiver with desire. His sharp canines scrape over your pulse and you nearly come from that alone, the deep pit of ecstasy yawning open in front of you.

His name tumbles from your lips and you can feel him touching his cock, pushing the head of it against the thin silk of your panties, sliding it teasingly over your clit. You’re running towards that pit, getting closer and closer with each stride, ready and willing to toss yourself in like a sacrificial virgin throwing herself into a horny volcano.

Victor takes a deep breath and you know he’s ready. Oh, fuck. You’re ready too, so ready that you’re about to explode. His fingers are moving the silk aside, getting soaked with your juices because you weren’t lying about being ready, and suddenly—

There’s a pulsing flash of red behind your eyes.

Are you coming already? You knew it was going to be quick, but you didn’t expect it to be _that_ quick. Besides, there’s no feeling of elation, no toe-curling pleasure, no screaming as you’re swallowed up by that horny fucker of a volcano.

“Fuck.” Victor’s snarl is furious, his weight suddenly gone. You open your eyes to see that he’s on his feet, stuffing that amazing cock back into his trousers. He pulls you up and wraps the flat sheet around you before curling his fingers around your wrist gently.

He’s pulling you towards the washroom and you don’t resist; you trust him implicitly. Fuck, you’d probably follow him through the gates of hell if he was holding your hand. You’re a bit woozy from the quick transition of sex to suddenly-no-sex, but Victor’s presence is solid in front of you, a touchstone that keeps you focused.

Plus, dat _ass_! You send up a silent prayer to the gods for the tailor who must had practically molded the fabric there. You shower blessings upon them, upon their family, their pets, their deceased relatives.

Red lights are flashing silently in the four corners of the room as Victor crowds you into the shower and presses three different tiles. The wall sides up with a quiet _woosh_ revealing a staircase that winds down into darkness.

Of _course_ he has cool shit like this. The man is basically a living, breathing spy movie.

“Do you have a cool cave down there filled with sexy cars?” you whisper excitedly.

He chuckles as he precedes down the stairs, his grip firm but mindful of your injuries. “That’s a different safe house,” he replies. “This one has a panic room.”

Your entire body goes cold. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Your voice trembles slightly and you hate it. You hate that Felix still has such power over you. You hate that it makes you seem clingy and needy.

That was a part of yourself you’ve never wanted Victor to see. He’s a strong, fierce, independent soul and he needs someone like that, not a pathetic, sniveling lacy piece of flesh that constantly needs saving. You stifle the sob that’s suddenly at the back of your throat.

Wordlessly, Victor turns and scoops you into his sturdy arms and holds you tight, ignoring your protests as he strides the rest of the way down the stairs. When you realise your tirade is being ignored, you let yourself relax, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

The scent of woodsmoke and his citrus aftershave send a thrill down your spine. You don’t want to be scared, so why not distract yourself with the closest thing at hand: the hottest man in the whole fucking universe? The soft kiss you press to his skin makes him growl lightly. The sound is a mix of serious and playful, so you do it again, earning a put-upon groan.

“Christ, you better stop that shit right now,” Victor says, his breath coming faster. “I ain’t made of fuckin’ stone, tiger.”

“I know a part of you that’s hard as a rock, though,” you reply wickedly, nipping at the exposed skin of his collarbone.

The rumble from him reverberates through you, his hands tightening on you to the point of pain, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re not even the slightest bit frightened anymore.

“Tiger,” Victor groans, “lemme get you safe an’ then I’ll fuck you senseless, okay?”

“Is that a promise?” You lean forward a little, flicking your tongue over the pointed tip of his ear.

He shudders so hard he almost drops you. “Cross my fuckin’ heart, baby.”

The next few minutes are a blur of kisses and seductive growls, whispered insinuations (emphasis on _sin_ ) on what you were going to do to each other, and gentle biting that ramps up Victor’s growls.

You’re pretty sure you’re about to get the ravaging of a century when the panic room door pops open, but instead of having the sheet ripped bodily from you, Victor comes to a complete stop. Puzzled, you turn your head and see someone you never wanted to see again in one hundred million thousand years.

“What the hell is _she_ doing here?!”

 

 


End file.
